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STORIES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS 



LITTLE LITERATURE LESSONS FOR LITTLE 



BOYS AND GIRLS 



BY ^■ 
MRS. FRANCES A. HUMPHREY 



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WITH PORTRAITS AND AUTOGRAPHS 




BOSTON 
D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY 

FRANKLIN AND HAWI.EV STREETS 






Copviighl, iSSd, 

by 

D. LoTiiRor & Company. 



/Z-3V9.^ 



O 



PRESSWORK BY BERWICK JL SMITH, BOSTON. 



CONTENTS 
I. 



Henry W. J^ongfeixow 



II. 

John G. Whittiek .'.... 10 

TIL 
Lucy Larco.m 13 

IV. 
T. B. Aldrich 16 

V. 
J. T. Tr.OWBUIDGE It) 

VI. 

HaERIET I5EECHER Stowe .22 

VII. 

Nathaniel Hawthorne 25 

VIII. 
Margaret Sidney 28 

IX. 

Louisa M. Alcott 31 

X. 

William Cullen Bryant 34 

XI 
O. W. Holme.s 37 

XII. 
Alice and Phcep.e Cary 40 



STORIES ABOUT FAVOEITE AUTHORS. 

Longfellow was born Februaiy 27, 1807. in Portland, Maine. He 
IS often called the '■ Childicns Poet." 

Among his early poems is 77/e VlUiK/e Blacksmith, whose smithy 
stood '■ under a spreading chestnut-tree,"" in Cambridge, Mass, In 
that poem, he tells how the 

— children coming home from school And liear the bellows roar, 

Look in at the open door; And catch the buniing sparks that fly, 

They love to see the flaming forge, Like chaff from a threshing floor. 

In 1871', that tree was cut down, and the school-children of 
Cambridge brought their bits ui money together, and had a chair 
made from the wood, and gave it to Longfellow, on his seA'enty- 
second birthday. The chair stands by the fireplace in his study. 
Longfellow wrote a poem about it. addressed to the children, be- 
ginning, •• From My Armchair." 

He also gave orders that everv child who wished to see that 
chair, should be admitted, and 0. such a pattering of dirty little 
feet as there was through his entrance hall for months ! 

Once he made a speech to one thousand grammar-school chil- 
dren ! and he never made speeches to grown people. It was on 
the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the founding of Cam- 
bridge. After the public exercises were over, tlie boys and girls 
crowded around him with their albums for his autograph. He 
wrote till dinner time obliged him to stop, and then he told those 



^TOEIJ^a OF FAVORITE AUTHOIiH. 



who had not yet got his autograph to come to liis house for it, 
every one. His house is the old Craigie House. It was once 
Wasliiugton's headquarters; and hundreds of boys and girls have 

been there to 
] see Longfellow. 
"; His friend, 
Signor Monti, 
met one day a 
little girl, who. 
with her moth- 
er, was looking 



for Longfellow's 
house, and he 
pointed it out 
to them. Tiie 
poet was stand- 
ing in his study 
window with his 
back to t h e 
street. Signor 
Monti went in 
and said, "Do 
look out the win- 
dow, and bow to 
that little girl 
who wants to 
see 3'ou." 

•' A little girl wanting to see me ! " replied Longfellow, and 
going to the hall door he said, "Come here, little girl, come 
here if you want to see me," and taking her hand he led her hi. 




HENRY WADSWOKTM Ul.\C:rKLU)W. 



STORIES OF FAVORITE AUTHORS. 

Once lie was visiting at a house where there were several little 
girls. They had a family of dolls, an every-day family and a 
family of company' dolls. 

"Now." said Mr. Longfellow, "I want to see your dolls. Not 
the line ones you keep for company, but those you love Ijest and 
})lay with every da_\'," and so they brought out their shabby, broken- 
nosed and armless dolls, and told Mr. Longfellow all aluuit them. 
And such a good time as they had, and he too, for that matter ! 
Her^" are the nonsense verses he wrote for hi; own little Edith. 



There was a little girl And when she was ynod 

And she had a little cnrl She was very, very good. 

And it hung right down on her forehead. And when she was had, she was horrid! 



His jjoems are read in England by all classes. Once when he 
was coming home from the House of Lords, the common peo^jle 
gathered about him begging to touch his hand. 

Queen Victoria invited him to visit her at Windsor Castle. As 
he passed through the long corridors to the Throne Room, the 
doors on either side opened and he saw i^eople peeping at liim ! 
The\' were the servants of the queen. The queen herself told of 
this and said, "Such poets wear a crown that is imperisliahle." 

He died March 24, 1882. It was known for several daj^s that he 
was sick. One day a military company of little five-year-olds as they 
passed his house, took off their caps, and their drum was silent, 
because they so loved the dying poet. 

Of his poems read Paul Revere s Ride, The Children's Hour. The 
Psalm of Life, The Castle-Builder and 3Iy Lost Youth ; Part IH. of 
The Song of Hiawatha, telling of Hiawatha's childhood and old 
Nokomis, his grandmother. I know a little boy of six who never 
tires of hearing these poems read. 



driJ^^^^ 



When Longfellow died Wliittier wrote a [loeui, The Pod and 
the Children, whicli was published in Wide Awake. Of this poem, 
the (irst and fourth verses are here a:iven : 



Willi a glory o£ winter sunsUine 
Over his loclvs of gray, 

hi tlie old historic mansion, 
He Sill on liis last birllulay. 



And liis heart grew warm witliin liim, 
And his moistening eyes grew dim, 

For lie knew that his country's chililren 
Were singing Llie songs of him. 



This alludes to the delightful custom of the keeping of Long- 
fellow's birthday, by the school-children of America. 

Whittier was born December 17, 1807. and his birthday is also 
kept by the school-children. On his last birthday, his seventy- 
seventh, the junior class of the Girls' High School. Boston, Mass., 
sent him a basket of seventy-seven rare and exquisite roses. 
He replied as follows : 



The sun of life is sinkiiip; low ; 
Without is winter's falling snow. 
Williin your summer roses fall. 



The lieart of age your offering cheers. 
You count ill flowers my many years, 
God bless you, one and all I 



To the school superintendent in Cincinnati he wrote : " I am 
glad to l)e rcmemljered on the 17tli instant in the schools of 
Cinchinati. Little did the barefoot farmer boy on the banks 
of thr JMeri'imac more than sixty years ago know of the great 
West, or dream that he would live to be greeted by the united 



.STORIES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 



voices of \\w school students and childrcu of a great city on the 
then ahuost unknown beautiful river." 

Mr. Coffin of Lynn also presented him with a beautiful birth- 
day cake, inscribed, -J. G. W., Dec. 17, 1807-1884." Mr. Coffin 
presented a portruit of Whittier in 1884 to tlie Friends Scliool 
at Providence, R. I. As you know, Mr. AVhittier is a Quaker. 
A second Ijirtliday cake was presented by two ladies. 

He was born in a lonely 



farmhouse, which still stands 
three miles northeast of the 
city of Haverhill, Mass. This 
house is about two hundred 
years old. There was a 
biother. and together they 
did their 

nigluly chores, 
Bnjiiglit ill the wood from out, of doors, 
LiUered Ihe sUilIs and from the mows 
Kaked down the herd"> grass for tlie cows. 

Tills he tells us in Snow- 
hoimd, a poem in which j^ou 
ciin learn much of his life 
as a boy. He says : 

We piled with care our niglitjy stack 
Of wood against the cliimney Ijack, 
Tlie oaken log, green, huge and thick, 
And on its top the stout back stick. 

In Snoiohound, you will read of the father and mother, the 

two sisters, the dear aunt and uncle, who made up the happy 
household. 

The younger sister, Elizabeth, was especially beloved by the 




■ UN c^UKICNI.ICAl- WIIITTIEK. 



STORIES ABOUT FAVORITE Ai'THORS. 

poet. She too. wrote poems, and was a sweet and lovely woman. 
Kead her poems, IakIij Franklin, and Dr. Kane in Cuba. This 
poem reached Cnha when Dr. Kane was lying on his death-bed. 
His mother ri'ad it to him and he listened with grateful tears. 

The mother of the Whittiers was a tender-hearted woman, of 
whom I his pretty story is told l)y her son, our poet. She never 
liked to tiu'ii a beggar from her door. Init one day there came 
••an olivt'-complexioned, black-bearded Italian, with an eye like a 
live coal," who asked that he n)i<j,'lu stay all niu'ht. FeeliuLi' afraid 
of him. she refused, but after he had iione she regretted having; 
done so. 

••What if a son of mine were in a strange land?" she 
thought. So when her son, our poet, came in from the fields. 
he offered to go and find him and l)ring him back. He did so, 
and the tram[> }iroved to lie a very pleasant guest. He told 
stories of his own loved Tuscany, and gave Mrs. Whittier a 
recipe for making bread out of chestnuts ! 

Mr. Whittier is now a tall, slender, graceful, handsome old man 
with snow-white hair and bright black eyes. Children are apt to 
gather around him like bees around a bit of honeycomb. He is a 
great lover of dogs and is the happy owner of a big New- 
foundland and a slender greyhound. 

There are so many of his poems that you will like to read, 
how can I choose ? But here are a few : Tlie Barefoot Boy, 
TcH'nKj the Bees, My Playmate. The Pipes at Lucknow, In School 
Dai/s, and Barbara Frietchie. 

AVhittier's home for many years was at Amesbury. Mass. But 
be now lives with friends at Oak Knoll in Danvers. so called 
from its line oaks. A part of each winter he spends in Boston. 



^^^J-x^e-y;:^ (^yQ>^-<^^:^-2^-i> 



o 



Lucy Larcom lives in Beverly, Ma.ss., in which town she was 
born. She has so pretty a name, tliat peoi)le who do not I'i.now 
her, often tliink it is not her real name. Mrs. Whitney thinks 
her name conies from Lark-combe, which means the haunt, or 
valley-held of larks. That is a lovely and fit name for this poet- 
ess, who sings as the lark sings. 

She began to write verses, it seems, when she was seven years 
old. She not onlj- wrote but illustrated them, in water colors, 
and so published them herself, and for herself. The book was in 
manuscript of course, as she was not so fortunate as manv little 
people of our day who have iirinting-presses. After she had kept it 
and enjoyed it a little w'hile by herself, she put it carefully awav — 
in a bookcase ? No ; in a deep, deep crack in the old garret floor, 
wherein it disappeared ; and what happened to it there, nobody 
can tell but the rats and mice, who often know more about 
what becomes of people's things, than the people do themselves. 

When Lucy Larcom was still a little girl, her father died, and 
the mother, with the eight daughters, shortly after went to live 
in Lowell. After a while, Lucy went to work in the mills tliere 
as a " little " doff'.n' ; " that is, she took off emjUy l)()bl)ins and put 
on full ones. Only American girls worked in the mills then, and 
some of the girls formed a literary club to which Luc\' Lnreom 
belonged. They had a pa])er called. The Lowell Offer'nuj. I remem- 
ber reading it wdien a girl and finding it very entertainini'-. 



>iT OKIES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 



J^iic\- Larcoiii afterwards went to tlie then new State of Illinois, 
where she tanght school. The schoolhonse was of logs and there 
was an enormous ohimney. One day a- nanghty, disobedient girl 
was told l>y Miss Lai'coni to "go and stand in tlie chimney." 

She did so and presently' disap- 
peared I She had gone out of 
doors by way of the chimney ! 
After a few more years of 
teaching and studying, Miss Lar- 
e(ini became one of the asso- 
ciate editors of Our Yoitnij Folks, 
a Boston magazine yotu- mothers 
read when they were girls. She 
was also for a time its chief 
editor. So she has been work- 
ing in varions ways for little 
people, as well as for their 
elders, almost all her life, 
read her Little BrUhjefs Christmas 
F/oincrs, printed in Wide AwaIsE in 1884 ? The ]>oor little city 
girl, l^ridget. who, having lived throTigh the joys of a Country 
Week, recalled them — the tlowers. the squirrels, the birds, the 
haymaking, as she lay sick and weary — 

Oil liPV shabby trundle bed. 
Covered willi a tbreadbare spread — 

watching the exquisite frost-flowers on her window-pane. 

And liei- bear!, willi joy !;rew faint : 
■■ Mcilher, did the angels paint 
Flowers and ferns I used to see 
For a Clirisiinas gift to ine?" 




TJTfY T.AlICOnT. 

low maiiv of \'ou have 



STORIEti ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 

We like sometimes to know what l)Ooks peojjle have I'ead and 
loved wlieii they Avei'e children, and we learn that Lucy Larcom 
used to like Pilgrims Progi'es.s and The Scottish Chiefs. She 
used to read, too, Milton's Parddise Lost. This is a book that 
most children do not. care for, though I know one little lady who 
at eight knew it by heart. She read such old ballads as Chevy 
Chase. These are all grown people's books, but such as some chil- 
dren will like. 

Lucy Larcom has been almost a life-long friend of the poet 
Whittier and his sister Elizabeth. Together with Mr. Whittier she 
has collected and edited Child-life in Prose, and Child-life in 
Poetry. 

Of her poems you nmst certainly read Pussy Clover. The 
Brown Thrush, Redfop mid Timothy, and then as many more as 
you please. You will like, I am sure, to read the jjoems of one 
who has written : — 

Tlir<nii;li tlic {jladUL'ss of little cliiUlrtr. 
Avo the frostiest lives kept warm. 



5:v^ ^ oivw'ci . 



Old- YoiuK) Folks had an oriinge-colored cover. It was taken 
at our house for a certain young person, though I think the 
young person often had to wait for the okler ones to read it 
first. 

One year a deUghtful serial story was published in it with this 
title, The Story of a Bad Boy. The boy's name was Tom Bailey 
He was not I'eally a bad boy. He was only full of life and fun. 
in one word — a boy. 

He was born in Rivermouth. N. H.. and went very early in Ufe 
with his father and mother to live in New Orleans. After a few 
years he came back to his grandfather's in Rivermouth to go to 
school. He had some very queer ideas, he tells us, about tlie 
North. He thought Indians were plenty, and that they "occa- 
sionally dashed down on New York and scalped " a few women 
and childreu. mostly children. The houses he supposed were log- 
cabins. 

On the voyage up from New Orleans he becauie acquainti'd with 
a sailor known as "Sailor Ben." Sailor Ben told no end of fas- 
cinating stories, and had interesting pictures tattooed all over hi(4 
arms. 

The various adventures of Toui Bailey and his companions were 
most delightful reading. How we laughed over them ! One month 
we read abont a play they had in Captain Nutter's — Tom's grand- 
father's— baru. They played Wiinam Tell. Tom was William Tell 



STOEIES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 



and Pepper Whitcomb was Toll's son. Just as Tom was about to 
shoot the apple on Pepper's head, the latter gaped, and the arrow- 
went straight into his mouth ! 

Another time they cleaned and loaded and fired a half-dozen 
old cannon which lay by the wharves. They fired them by 
means of a fuse. Tom Bailey lighted the fuse at midnight on 
Fourth of July e\"e. He got out of his chamber window, and had 
just time to scramble back again 
over the porch, and into bed, 
before the first cannon went 
off. 

One after another they went 
off with a fearful hoo)n, boom, 
for they were so old they Inirst. 
The people were terrified. They 
thought the town was being 
bombarded. The next day the 
bursted cannon were found, but 
noboby knew who the rogues 
were. 

Sailor Ben helped the boys 
in this scrape. Sailor Ben had 
left off going to sea and settled in Rivermouth. He had I)uilt him 
a house and finished it like a ship's cabin. He slept in a bunk, 
and had a stove such as ships' cooks have in their galley, with 
a railing around it to keep the pots and kettles from sliding off' 
in a high sea. 

Sailor Ben and the Rivermouth boys were excellent friends. 

The writer of this charming Story of a Bad Boy is Thomas 
Bailey Aldrich, and the Tom Bailey in the book is just himself. 




THOMAS BA1LE\ Al.IHUCH. 



STORIES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 

and it is a story, a true story of his own boyhood. It is exquis- 
itely written. The reading of it is a lesson in pure and elegant 
English. Rivermouth is Portsmouth, N. H. 

Mr. Aldrich is a poet, as well as a writer of essays and stories. 
His poem, " Baby Bell," is a great favorite. This lovely Baby 
Bell linu-ered a brief time in this world of ours and then '' he came " ; 



The messenger from unseen lands; 
And wliat did dainty Baby Bell? 

She only crossed her little hands, 
She only looked more meek and fair! 
We parted back her silken hair. 



We wove the roses round her brow. 
White buds, the Minimers drifted snow — 

Wrapt her from head to foot in flowers, 
And thus went dainty Baby Bell 

Out of this word of ours! 



The following poem he wrote for the Children s Almanac: 



When every stocking was stuffed with dolls, .and "Quite like a stocking," he laughed, "pinned 

balls, and rings, up there on the tree! 

Whistles, and tops, and dogs (of all conceivable I didn't suppose the birds expected a present 

things! ) from me! " 

Old Kriss Kringle looked round, and saw on Then old Kriss Kringle, who loves a joke as 

the elm-tree bough, well as the best. 

High-hung, an oriole's nest, lonely and empty Dropped a handful of flakes in the oriole's 

now. empty nest. 

Mr. Aldrich now lives in Boston, and is editor of the Afkmtic 
Monthly, another yellow-covered magazine bearing otherwise, how- 
ever, little resemblance to the magazine in which was printed his 
StovTj of a Bad Boy. 




V'^s/'A^ 



Once upon a time, there was a magazine club in a country town 
in Western Massachusetts. This club took Harper s, the Atlantic, 
the Overland, the Living Age, in short, all the magazines worth 
having for the big folks. There was no Century magazine then. 

But one magazine only was taken for the little people — that 
magazine of which 1 have already told you so much. Our Young 
Folks. And now 1 must tell you what one member of that club 
said to me one day. It was Deacon R , a tall grave man. 

" I think after all," said the tall grave man, " that I really enjoy 
Our Young Folks better than all the other magazines put to- 
gether ! I like Jack Hazard, for I know all about cnnal-life." 

Now Jack Hazard was the hero of a serial story Avhich was then 
being printed in Our Young Folks. It was called Jack Hcnard 
and His Fortunes, and the author was J. T. Trowbridge, who was 
the editor-in-chief of the magazine. Jack Hazard was a canal-boy, 
and a very capital story Mr. Trowbridge tells us about him. 

He has writen many other stories for boys. The Tlnkham 
Brothers' Tide-mill is one of his latest and best. If you read it, 
you will become acc|uainted with some very plucky boys and nice 
girls, whom you will find in it. 

Mr. Trowbridge was born in Ogden, New York, September 17, 
1827. His boyhood was passed on a farm, which is the reason why 



STOEIES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 



he can tell lis .so well about a boy's farm life. He did not have 
much chance to go to school, and when he was fourteen he began 
the study of German and French by himself. There is a story 

about him which has Ijeen 
often told, but which you 
may never have heard. 

Several winters ago, he 
was passing Mystic Pond, 
just as a boy had broken 
throuoh the ice. He was 
struggling in the water, 
and a group of men were 
watchins; him from the 
bank, but doing nothing 
to help him. Mr. Trow- 
bridge seized a board from 



the fence, and broke it 
into two pieces, each about 
seven feet long. 

By slipping along over 
the ice with a foot on 
each piece of board he reached the place where the boy was 
sinking. The ice gave way, and he himself went into the water, 
but he succeeded in getting the boy on to a Ijoard. and then 
scrambled out himself, wet and dripping. 

The Humane Society afterwards presented him with a medal for 
having saved a life. 

Like many other of our authors, Mr. Trowbridge is a poet as 
well as a writer of stories. Here is a lovely bit from a poem 
called " Midwinter " : 




J. T. TKOWBRIUGE. 



STOJRIES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 



I watch the slow flakes as they fall 
On bank and biier and broken wall; 
Over the orchard, waste and brown, 
All noiselessly they settle down. 
Tipping the apple-boughs, and eacli 
Liglit quivering twig of plum and peach. 
On turf and curb and bower-roof 
The snowstorm spreads its ivory woof; 



It paves with pearl the garden walk; 
And lovingly round tattered stalk 
And shivering stem its magic weaves 
A mantle fair as lily-leaves. 
The hooded beehive, small and low, 
Stands like a maiden in the snow, 
And the old door-slab is half hid 
Under an alabaster lid. 



And here follows ;i conqjanioii picture from '•Miclsuinmer". 



I watch the mowers, as they go 
Thniugh the tall grass, a white-sleeved row. 
With even stroke their scythes they swing. 
In tune tbeir merry whetstones ring. 
Behind H'" nimble youngsters run, 



.\nd toss the thick swaths in the sun. 
The cattle graze, while, warm and still. 
Slopes the broad pasture, basks the hill, 
And bright, where summer breezes break, 
The green wheat crinkles like a lake. 



Then t lie re is his amusing poem of 
flying machine : 



Darius Green " and his 



An aspiring genius was U. Gieen: 
The son of a farmer — age fourteen : 
His body was long and lank and lean. 



Just right for flying, as will be seen; 
He had two eyes as bright as a bean, 
And a freckled nose that grew between. 



If you wish to know liow he succeeded in flying 3011 must read 
the poem. He tells •■ The Story of Columbus," in verse. It is 
told in ten brief poems, viz : " Columbus and his little Son Diego," 
" Columbus and the Prior," •• Before the King and Queen of Spain," 
" Before the Wise Men of Salamanca," '' Queen Isabella," " The Voy- 
age," "Discovery of the New World," '-Return to Spain," "The 
Courtiers and the Egg," "His Reward." You should read it. 
It is in the volume entitled The Emigrcmfs Story. 

Mr. Trowbridge lives at Arlington, Mass., a quiet, green \W- 
lase not far from Boston. He is to be met in the city on 
nearly all pleasant occasions. His brown hair is frosting over 
now, but his smile is as sunshiny as ever, and his eyes are the 
kindest eyes ever seen, and his voice and his manner match his 
eyes. 



^/v^Yd(3:^^^^- 



To-day we see the tulip blos.sDuiiug iu almost every garden — 
white, pink, scarlet and crimson — how gay they are ! and cheap, 
tt)0. You can Ijuy a bull) that will gi^e you a gorgeous blossom, 
for a small sum. But seventy years ago. tulip Inilbs were worth 
a great deal of money. 

In those far-away days, a certain mother had a bag of precious 
tulip bulbs put away, waiting for the time to come when she 
could plant them. This same mother had. too, a busy, mis- 
chievous little daughter. 

One day this mischie^•ous little daughter found the bag of 
precious biilbs ; she thought they were onions and she lilted 
onions, so with the help of her brothers and sisters the rare bulbs 
were soon eaten. 

Did the mother scold when she found what they had done ? 
The little daughter herself tells us years after. "She (the mother) 
sat down and calmly, sweetly, told them what lovely tulips would 
have risen from those roots had tliey spared them." She did not 
speak one impatient word. 

The mother was Mrs. Roxana Beecher, and the daughter is the 
authcn' whom we know as Harriet Beecher Stowe 

When Harriet was seven years old, her older sister, Catherine, 
writes that, " she is a very good girl. She has been to school 
all this summer, and has learned to read fluently. She has com- 
mitted to memory twenty-seven hynnis and two long chapters in 



STOIilES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 



the Bible. She has a very I'etentive memory and will makv a 
good scholar." 

One of Harriet's earh* teachers was John Pierce Brace, and it 
seems that he excelled in teaching composition. He gave her such 
thorough training in this art that when she was eleven, she was 
appointed one of the writers for the annual exhibition. I don't 
know what you would think of the suliject that was given her. 
It wasn't " Spring " nor '• Goats." It was a very difficult one. 
But she wrote her compo- 
sition. 

The compositions were 
read aloud. Anion u- the gen- 
tlemen on the platform was 
her father, Rev. Lyman 
Beecher. 

'' When mine Avas read." 
said Mrs. Stowe. " I noticed 
that father brightened and 
looked interested, and at the 
close I heard him sa\' : 

'•' ' Who wrote that com- 
position ? ' 

" ' Tour daughter, sir,' was the answer. 

" It was the proudest moment of my life," adds Mrs. Stowe. 

In the very first number of Our Toiiikj Folks, if I remember 
aright, was a story by Mrs. Stowe, called, '' Hum, the Son of 
Buz." Who Hum was I must leave you to find out. The story 
was the beginning of a series which has since been gathered into 
a book with the title, Queer Little People. 

The little Harriet must have learned much aljout these same 




HAr.i:iKT BEECHEH .STOWE. 



STORIES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 

'• Little People " while running wild over the hills of Litchfield, 
Conn., where she was born June 14, 1811. She was "a hearty, 
rosy, strong girl ; with flying curls of sunny brown, and sweet, 
keen, blue-gray eyes." 

Many years have gone by since then, and during these years 
she has written many books. Little Pussy Willow was published 
as a serial in Our Young Folks, and a very lovely story it is. 
And Pussy Willow with her quaint name, and her helpful, loving 
ways, is one of the most delightful children in literature. 

March 20, 1852, Uncle Toms Cabin was published. Many of 
you have heard of this book. Your grandfathers and grandmothers 
will tell you how they sat up nights to read it when it came 
out, and how they cried over Eva, and laughed over Topsy and 
her doings. Ten thousand copies* were sold in a few days, and 
over three hundred thousand within a year. It has been translated 
into nineteen different languages. Oliver Wendell Holmes alludes 
to this fact in some verses read at a garden party, given in 
honor of Mrs. Stowe's seventieth birthday. He says, " if every 
tongue that speaks her praise " 

Were suminoiied to tlie table — High Dutchman and Low Dutchman, too, 

Biiton and Frenchman, Swede and Dane, The Russian Serf, tlie Polish Jew, 

Tiuk, Spaniard, Tartar of Ukraine, Arab. Armeni.an, and Mantchoo, 

Hidalgo, Cossack, Cadi, Would shout, " We know the lady ! " 

Edward Everett Hale says, that of all stories ever written in 
the English tongue none have been so widely read as these three : 
Robinson Crusoe, Pilyrivis Progress and Uncle Toms Cabin ; 
all books that children will like. 

Mrs. Stowe spends her summers in Hartford, Conn., and her 
winters at Mandarin, Fla., where she owns a beautiful and pro- 
ductive orange grove. 



A little while ago, I was reading a very interesting book, when 
I came across this : " A History of Twenty Days with Julian 
and Bunny." I found it a charming history; it begins thus: 

" At seven o'clock a. m., Una and Rosebud took their departure, 
leaving Julian and me and Mrs. Peters ( the colored lady who 
does our cooking for us ) and Bunny, the rabbit, in possession 
of the Red Shanty." And then it goes on to tell all about what 
" Julian and me " and Bunny did during those twenty days. 
Bunny spent a good deal of time " nibbling clover-tops, lettuce, 
plantain leaves, pigweed and crumbs of Iji-end." Julian changed 
his ( Bunny's) name from Spring to Hindlegs, and every day when 
they ( " Julian and me " ) returned from their walk, Bunny gave 
them a jo\ful greeting, snuffing eagerly about them to find the 
leaf of mint they were sure to bring him. 

But alas! one day Bunny had a chill and died, and "after 
breakfast we dug a hole and planted him in the garden and 
Julian said : ' Perhaps to-morrow there will be a tree of Bunny's 
and they will hang all over it by their ears.' " 

As to Julian, he had a good time right straight along through 
the twenty days, playing with Bunny till Bunny died, fishing 
with bent pins, sailing the boat that lie had whittled out himself 
on the pond, making a bow and arrows, and playing jackstraws 
by himself. And Julian says, in the interesting book I read, that 
those twenty days were " halcyon days." ( The ancients believed 



STORIES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 



tliat the kingfisher or halcyon laid her eggs by the sea on cer- 
tain calm, fair days, and so they got in the way, and we do 
the same, of calling all lovely days halcyon days.) 

Now Aou will want to know who " Julian and me " were, and 
where the Ked Shanty was. The Red Shanty was a red farm- 
hou ic in Lenox, Mass., the " me " was Nathaniel Hawthorne, the 
great romancer, and "Julian" was his five-year-old son. 

They lived but a short time in Lenox, these five, the father 

and mothei', Una, Julian, and Rose, — -^™_-^ -^ 

but it was a " paradise for the *- =?~?^ft^ 

small people." They used to go 

" nutting and filled a certain dis- ; 

used oven in the house with such I 

bags on bags of nuts as not an 



hundred children could have de- 
A'oured during the ensuing winter. 
The children's father displayed ex- 
traordinary activity on these nut^ ' 
ting expeditions ; standing on the I 
ground at the foot of a tall wal- 
nut-tree, he would bid them turn 
their backs and cover their eyes 
with their hands ; then they would 
hear, for a few seconds, a sound 
of rustling and scrambling, and immediately after, .a shout, where- 
upon they would uncover their eyes and gaze upward ; and lo ! 
there was their father — swaying and soaring high aloft on the 
topmost branches. Then down would rattle shower's of ripe nuts 
which the children would diligently pick up and stuff into their 
capacious bags. It was all a splendid holiday ; and they cannot 




J 



.\.\ I KAMI, 1, HAW riHU.M'.. 



S TOBIES ABOUT FAVOBITE ALT HOBS. 

remember when their father was not thoir playmate, or when they 
ever desired or unagined any other playmate than he." So writes 
the grown-up Julian Hawthorne. 

It was while living in Lenox that Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote 
the Wonder Book for Girls and Boys, wherein is to be found 
the story of Little Pandora and her Box, from which she let 
out the stinging troubles ; the story of the slaying by Hercules 
of the fearful Gorgon, the sight of whose face turned jjeople 
into stone ; of the flying horse Pegaisus with his silvery wings, 
and many others, all written in that exquisite style of which the 
great romancer was a master. He also wrote for boys and girls, 
Tumjlewood Tales, similar to those in the Wonder Book, and 
True Stories from History and Biography. 

Of his bool\s for grown people, it is difficult to tell which is 
most admired. Tlic Scarlet Letter, the House of the Seven Gables, 
Tlie Blithedale Romance, The Marble Faun, each has its special 
admirers. With the writer of this Our Old Home is a great 
favorite. He was born July 4, 1804, and died April, 1864. 




^Zi^a,.^,^^ ^/i:^^:^^c<,C^.L^ 



A few years ago there was a story in the Wide Awake maga- 
zine that touched the hearts of little readers as no nuigazine- 
story had before, or has since. Little boys and girls wrote letters 
to the editors about it, and when the^^ visited Boston they came 
into the editors' office to talk about it. 

Each month, as a new chapter was published, there was a 
fresh clapping of glad little hands, and the editors knew then that 
the taste of American children had 7iot been spoiled; for this 
magical story was not a fairy story, nor a wonderful adventure, 
nor a tale of a beautiful princess in a palace, but was just about 
a family of five children who loved their mother and lived in a 
small brown house. But. oh ! they loved her so dearly, and they 
had so good times in the old house, and the eldest sister, Polly, 
was so brave even if she were only picking out basting threads, 
and tlu' eldest brother, Ben, was so brave too, even if he were 
only splitting wood, and the little boys, Joel and David, were 
so funny, and little Phronsie was so sweet and so funny too, that 
the story set all children everywhere to wishing that they were 
])oor and lived in a wee brown house. 

One day, two little New York gii'ls, whose father has millions 
of dollars, came to Boston and told the editors of Wide Awake 
that it was no use to try to be good like the little Peppers, 
because you could not unlt>ss you were poor and lived in a small 



S TOBIES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 



old house ; and they Avere very serious and very discouraged 
because they were rich children and lived in a tine brown-stone 
mansion. 

The title of this bewitching story was Five Little Peppers, and 
its author, Margaret Sidney, wlio has written many otlier books, 
should be very happy that she wrote this one. Little boys and 
girls are constantly reading 
it, for the book is published 
anew every year, and it has 
been published in England, 
and the English children are 
reading it. It has become 
what is called " a children's 
classic." 

One funny little girl who 
read the story in Wide 
Awake, and who has it also 
in a prett}^ volume by itself, 
wrote to the editors not long 
since, and asked them to 
please to publish it again 
in the magazine, because she 
wished so much to read it 
again month by month as 
she did at first. 

As I said, Margaret Sidney has written other stories for chil- 
dren, and many for grown people which you will read by and 
by. She wrote your own jolly story of Polly ihe Parrot. I 
think you may like " next best " to Five Little Peppers, the book 
called What the Seven Did. 




MAKOAIiET SIIINEY. 



STORIES AJiOUT EAVOItlTE AUTHORS. 

As you look at her portrait you can see that her heart is 
full of sunshiue. She has sunuy eyes and 8unny hair and a 
sunny smile, and her voice is quick and glad. If you should 
see her and hear her speak, you would be sure that she would 
understand all about any brave, true, joyous little child. 

Slie was like a story-book child herself when she was a little 
girl. She lived then in New Haven, Conn. Just here I would 
like to tell you her name then, and her name now, for " Margaret 
Sidney " is only her book-name. But I think I will not. I will 
only tell you tliat she now lives in Boston. Her summer home 
is the house where Mr. Haw thorne once lived — the famous 
" Wayside." 

It is told of her that when she was but a little toddler, she 
always had some other little toddler in charge who was smaller 
and weaker than herself ; and it did not matter at all if her 
dearest playmates were poor — if they were good,, true little chil- 
dren, Margaret Sidney liked them " just the same ; " and slie 
liked best the ones who needed her help the most. 

One day she was found holding open the large bag for the 
ragman — the clumsy old tin-pedler who, in those days, drove from 
house to house and from town to town to hny the "paper-rags," 
for which he paid with tin and glass-ware. The old man was 
grateful to the small Margaret, and presented her with a little 
scalloped cookey-tin, which she gravely accepted and kept. The 
shouts of the older children made no difference to her. 

" He was glad, and he thanked me," she said. 

She likes still to help, she likes still to make glad ; and it is 
this spirit in her sunshiny stories that draws to her the love of 
children. 



We learn from Miss Alcott's own book. Little Women, what she 
was and what she did when she was a girl. For, as every reader 
of that book knows, Miss Alcott is her own '• Jo." 

She w^as "tall and tliin and brown, and reminded one of a colt, 
for she never seemed to know what to do with her long limbs, 
which were very much in her way. She had a decided mouth, 
a comical nose, and sharp, gray eyes which appeared to see every- 
thing, and were by turns fierce, or funny, or thoughtful. Her 
long, thick hair was her only beauty, but it was usually bundled 
into a net to be out of the way. Round shoulders had Jo, and 
big hands and feet, and a fly-away look to her clothes." That is 
" Jo," or the young Louisa Alcott, as she pictures herself in Lit- 
tle Women. 

She was that excellent creature, a tomboy. A girl that likes 
to climlj trees, to skate and to coast, to play ball, to swim, to 
row, to live out-of-doors and to do the things boys do, is apt 
to be called a " tomboy." And it is well to have the courage 
to be called a " tomboy." For it is only by vigorous out-of-door 
games and sport, that a girl, as well as a boy, can grow up 
strong and healthy, with vigor to do life's work. 

Miss Alcott was born in Germantown, Pa., in 1832. In 1834 
her parents removed to Boston, Mass., where Mr. Alcott opened 
a school. And it was while she was in Boston, before she was 



STOBIES ABOUT FAVORITE ArTIIOIiS. 



eight years old. that she had become so litlie and active that 
she coukl drive a hoop entirely round the Common without stop- 
ping to take hreath. 

In 1840 the family moved to Concord, Mass.. which town has, 

since that time, been 
Miss Alcott's home. You 
have all heard of the 
Battle of Lexington and 
Concord, and this is the 
Concord where the battle 
was fought. 

Miss Alcott liked to 
scribble when she Avas 
a little girl. At eight 
years of age she wrote 
some verses, which the 
good mother kejjt with 
" tender care," proud of 
her daughter's work, as 
most mothers are. I 
think I shall have to 
give you that little poem here. It is an " Address to a Robin." 




LOUISA M.\Y ALCOTT. 



Welcome, welcome, little stranger, 
Fear no harm ami fear no danger; 
Wi^ are glad to see you here, 
For you sing sweet spring is near. 



Now the snow is nearly gone, 
Now the grass is coming ou — 
The trees are green, the sky is blue, 
And we are glad to welcome you. 



She liked story-telling then. too. as well as she does now. and 
used to frighten her sisters after they went to bed at night with 
fearful stories. And when she taught school as she did for some 
years, there was one liour in the school-day called the story-tell- 



STORIES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 

ing hour, when she told stories to her pupils, and should not you 
like to have been one of those pupils? 

An early schoolmate of Miss Alcott's gives in Wide Aioake for 
1880, a pleasant account of going to Louisa's birthday party. The 
Alcott girls acted dramas and sung songs. Annie, the Meg of 
Little Women, dressed as a Highlander, recited a Scotch ballad ; 
and Louisa appeared in the costume of an Indian girl and sang 
the •• Blue Juniata," a popular song of those days. She had stained 
her slviu an Indian red. 

The little May of Little Women, the real May, afterwards be- 
came Mrs. Nieriker. She was an artist, and died in 1879, leaving 
her little daughter, Louisa May Niei'iker, to Miss Alcott's cai-e. 

It would be like " carrying coals to Newcastle " to give you 
the names of Miss Alcott's many books, all which you doubtless 
know. But if she should live to write an hundred ( and I dare 
say you hope she may ) Little Women would still be without a 
rival in the affection of all girls. 



WILLIAM C'ULLEN BRYANT. 

One of the most charming, perhaps the most charming, you 
will say, of Bryant's poems is the one entitled, " Robert of Lincoln." 
Under the disguise of that grave and discreet name, you will at 
once recognize our rollicking friend the bob-o'-link : 



Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, 

Wearing a bright blaclc wedding coat; 
White are his shoulders and wliite liis crest, 
Hear him call in his merry note: 
Bob-o"-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Look, what a nice new coat is mine, 
Sure there was never a bird so fine. 
Chee, chee, ehee. 

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife. 

Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings. 
Passing at home a patient life, 
Broods in the grass while her husband sings: 
Bob-o"-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Brood, kind creature; you need not fear 
Thieves and robbers while I am here. 
Chee, chee, chee. 



Modest and shy as a nun is she; 

One weak chirp is her only note. 
Braggart and prince of braggiirts is he, 
Pouring bo.asts from his little throat: 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Never was I afraid of man ; 
Catch me, cowardly kn.aves, if you can. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Six white eggs on a bed of hay. 

Flecked with purple, a pretty sight! 
There as the mother sits all day, 
Robert is singing with all his might: 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, sp.ank, spink; 
Nice good wife, that never goes out. 
Keeping house while I frolic .about. 
Chee, chee, chee. 



William Cullen Bryant was born in Cummington, Mass., November 
3, 1794. His father was a physician Doctor Bryant was a lover 
of poetry and of music, and his library was made up mostly of 
books of poetry, and the necessary medical works. 

His little son William Cullen, or '' Cullen," as his mother called 
him, began to write verses at the age of nine. At ten some of 
these were printed in the local newspaper. His father was his 



STOlilEU ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 

critic, and a severe one too, and insisted upon his writing " only 
when he had something to say " — an excellent bit of advice. 
The Bryants were noted for their bodily strength, and Doctor 




WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 



Bryant was so strong he " could pick up a barrel of cider and 
lift it into a cart over the wheel." 

The mother of our poet was a hard-working woman (there were 
seven children) and she lived at the time when man}' women 
were obliged to spin and weave the material for the family cloth- 
ing and household linen. She kept a diary of events and here 
are one or two bits from it : •• Made Austin a coat ; " " Spun 



STORIES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 

thirt}- knots of linen." " Taught Cullen his letters." " Wove 
four yards and went a-quilting." " Washed and ironed." 

The little Cullen Avas sent to school, when four years old, 
and he remembers standing bareheaded one time in a summer 
rain, because the children told him if he did, it would make his 
hair grow. At another time, he fell asleep, and was much ashamed 
to find himself in the teacher's arms, when he woke, held just 
like a baby — he a big boy of four ! 

In 1810 he entered William's College. He did not graduate, 
though the college afterwards gave him his degree. When seven- 
teen he wrote his famous poem called " Thanatopsis." 

Mr. Bryant began the practice of law in Great Barrington, 
Mass. Here he was married June 11, 1821, to Fanny Fair- 
child. The ceremony took place in an old-fashioned white frame 
house which is still standing. Fanny Fairehild was nineteen and 
an orphan, and this is what her husljand says of her : " She was 
a very pretty blonde — small in person, with light brown hair, 
gray eyes, a graceful shape, a dainty foot, transparent and deli- 
cate hands, and a wonderfully frank and sweet expression of face." 

In 1825 he removed to New York. Within the year he took an 
editorial i)osition on The Evening Post, and was connected with 
that paper till he died, a period of over fifty years. 

For more than thirty years his summer home was at Roslyn, 
Long Island. It was called Cedarmere. He died in 1878. 
November 3, 1884, there was a tree-planting on the village green 
at Roslyn, of trees grown at Cedarmere, to commemorate his 
birthday. The first tree was planted by Mr. Bryant's old servants. 

Of Bryant's poems you will like especially, I think, his lines 
"To a Waterfowl," and "The Planting of the Apple-tree." 



A good many years ago, I cannot say exactlj' how many, a 
company of young people were making merry over a new poem 
by a certain young poet. The poem was called "The Septem- 
ber Grale," and the title certainly has a sober air, although the 
poem is an exceedingly merrj^ poem. 

That young poet was Oliver Wendell Holmes, and since that 
time he has written many merry poems to make people laugh, as 
well as some pathetic ones. '• The Last Leaf," which is both merry 
and sad, was a favorite with our beloved President, Abraham 
Lincoln. 

Dr. Holmes (for he is a physician as well as poet, essayist, 
and story-teller) was born in Cnnibridge, Mass., in an old house 
with a gambrel roof which is still standino- on the college 
grounds. Not long since, I walked around it ; its lilac hedges 
were just coming into leaf. 

Li a little old almanac, which is still in existence, this entry 
is made, dated August 29, LS09 : '■'Son b. ; " which means "Son 
born," and it was written by his father, and that is the date 
of the son's birth. 

He is sometimes called our patriotic poet, because he has writ- 
ten so many patriotic poems and songs. The poem that first 
made him famous is a patriotic poem. Every American school- 
boy has. sometime, to " speak " that poem ; it is called '• The Old 
Constitution," and it begins in this way : 



STOniES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 



K'j, tear her tattered ensign down ! 

Long has it waved on high. 
And many an eye has danced to see 

Tliat banner in the sky ; 



Beneath it rnng tlie battle shont, 
And burst the cannon's roar, — 

The meteor of the ocean air 
Sliall sweep the clouds no more. 



The governineiit had made up its mind to take in pieces the 
Constitution, but the people said '• No ! we cannot have the gal- 
lant old frigate torn in pieces," and Dr. Holmes, then a young 

man, said so too in his 
fine verses, which were 
printed far and wide, 
and the government 
changed its mind. 

Dr. Holmes tells us 
that he wrote this poem 
in the White Chamber 
of the old gamlirel-roofed 
house, Stan.^ j»>cf/e in 
into, which is Latin for 
•• standing on one foot." 
The verses are very stir- 
ring, and it is not to 
be wondered at that the 
poem that everybody likes. 




ul.lVEll WENUKLL nol.MES. 



boys like to " speak ' them. It is a 

To this old gambrel-roofed house was attached an old-fashioned 
flower-garden, that is, a garden that had cinnamon roses, and 
l)liisli roses, and garden-lilies, and hollyhocks, and such old-fash- 
ioned plants. In course of time these plants disappeared, and 
the garden became grass-grown. And when the boy Oliver 
became a man, he remembered the old garden, and thought he 
should like to have it back aajain. 



STORIES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 

So he had the old-fashioned things phmted ovei* again. He 
remembered, that when lie was a boy, a row of sunflowers grew 
in this garden that the yellow birds visited, and so he had a 
row of sunflowers planted, to see if the yellow birds would come 
back again. 

And lo I when the sunflowers had grown and blossomed, there 
were the yellow birds ! Not the same — dear, no ! but some 
just like them — and they flew as merrily and gracefully about 
the great rayed flowers, as did the yellow birds of his young 
days. 

In 1847 Dr. Holmes was appointed Professor of Anatomy in 
the Medical School of Harvard University, where he remained 
until a few years ago. 

He has written many books of interest to grown people, be- 
sides many poems which children will like, although not w-ritten 
especially for them. The history of a " One Hoss Shay " is as 
'' diverting " as was " John Gilpin." The " One Hoss Shay," 

That was iiiadf in such a womlerful way 
That it run a huiiilreil years to a day. 

Dr. Holmes lives in Boston, on Beacon street, in a pleasant 
house which looks out upon Charles River. 




(f-^ 



Jf/^^ {/'^c<-^ &^ 




Our old brown homestead reared its walls 

From the wayside dust aloof, 
Where the apple-boughs could almost cast 

Their fruit upon its roof; 
And the cherry tree so near it grew 

That when awake I've lain 
In the lonesome nights, I've heard the limbs 

As they creaked against the pane; 
And those orchard trees! O those orchard trees! 

I've seen my little brothers rocked 
In their tops by the summer breeze. 



We had a well — a deep, old well. 

Where the spring was never dry. 
And the cool drops down from the mossy stones 

Were falling constantly: 
And tliere never was water half so sweet 

As the draught which filled my cup 
Drawn up to the curb by the rude, old sweep, 

That my father's hand set up; 
And tliat deep, old well! O, that deep, old well! 

I remember now the plashing sound 
Of the bucket as it fell. 



That is what Phcebe Gary writes of the old house wherein she 
was born, September 4, 1824. It stood in the Miami Valley 
about eight miles from Cincinnati. Alice Gary was born April 26, 
1820. She too has written aljout the old house and here is the 
bit from her verse : 



Low and little, and black and old, 
with children many as it can hold 
All at the windows open wide, — 
Heads and shoulders clear outside: 



And fair young faces all ablush: 

Perhaps you may have seen, some day, 
Koses crowding the self-same way. 

Out of a wilding, wayside bush. 



This little brown house was a frame house, and was, therefore, 
a degree above the log-cabins which were scattered over the 
region ronndalxnit ; for the Gary sisters were born at a time 
when Ohio was far " out West." This brown house had a 
blossoming cherry-tree in springtime, and a fragrant sweetbrier 



S TOBIES ABOUT FAVOBITE AUTHOBS. 



at its windows, ami it was briniiuiug ovei- with iiiiiu children. 
The family were poor, and the little girls helped the mother 
to do the housework, and learned to knit and cook, and spin, 
and sweep, and dust. The schoolhouse, where they went to 
school, was a mile and a half away. One day when they were 
returning from school, Alice picked up a freshly cut switch, and 
stuck it in the ground, saying : " Let us stick it in the ground 
and see if it will grow^ ? " The friend who tells this story says, 
that she saw^, thirty-five years after, the tall tree into which this 
switch had gi-own. 

They had but few books in the little brown house — no children's 
books. As they grew up, and w^anted to study and write, they 
did this after their day's 
work was done, at night ; 
and when they could not 
have a candle, a saucer of 
lard with a bit of rag for 
a wick, served instead. 

They began writing verses 
when they were young girls, 
and in 1850, made their first 
visit East. They visited Whittier, and among his poem's j-ou will 
find one called " The Singer," and it begins thus : 




ALIIE CAIiKY. 



PHffiBE l-AREY. 



Years since (but names to me before) 
Two sisters souglit at eve my door; 



Two song-binls wandering from tlieirnest 
A gray old farra-liouse in tlie West. 



In November of this same year, Alice Gary came to New York, 
whicli from that time was her home till her death. In the 
spring of 1851, Plicebe with a younger sister followed her, and 
together they made a li(jme in the big city. They rented a flat, 



STORIES ABOUT FAVORITE AUTHORS. 

and kept hou8e, supporting themselves by their writing, and liv- 
ing in an economical way. 

In 1856, they moved into their pretty house in Twentieth 
street. This pretty house became a centre of litem r_\ life in 
New York, at that time. It was a lovely house, and you may 
read all about it in Mary Clemmer's Life of the Carij Sisters. 

A great many htxhy girls were named for Alice Carv, and each 
mother sent her a photograph of her namesake. A visitor saw 
these photograplis in her room one day, and said : " Who are 
these little girls ? " " 3Iine ! " replied Alice with a laugh. '' They 
are all Alice Gary's." 

Alice Gary died February 13, 1870, and Phoebe July 31, 1871. 
Both these sisters were fond of children, Alice liking little girls 
the best, and Phoebe, little boys. They wrote many pretty bal- 
lads for children: "The Settler's Christmas Eve," and 'The 
Christmas Sheaf," being two of them. 




M 



^ 



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SOME NEW ILLUSTRATED BOOKS: 

WONDER PEOPLE. Stories of dwarfs, giants, 
gypsies and troubadours. Curious and surprising pictures. 
Quarto, cliromo cover, price .30 cents. 

SIGHTS WORTH SEEING. Keniarkable festivals, 
great cities, historical places, mountains, craters, glaciers, 
etc. Profusely illustrated. Quarto, cloth, price .$1.7.5. 

CHILDREN'S BALLADS. From history, folk-lore 
and fairy-lore. Siiperlily illiistruted. Quarto, cloth, price .'Jl. "5. 

A NEW DEPART- 
URE FOR GIRLS. By 

MAiai.iRET Sidney. A bril- 
liant practical story for girls 
who must work their way in 
the world. KJmo, illustrated, 
price T.-j ceiils. 

THE ADVEN- 
TURES OF ANN, A 
Story of Colonial 
Times. From original 
documents and family an- 
nals. By J1.\i;y E. Wii.iaxs. 
lllipo. prici' lio edits. 

IN LEIS LER'S 
TIMES. v.); E. S. 
BitooKs. A stirring histor- 
ical story of Ijoyaud girl life 
iu early New York. Illustra- 
tions by AV. T. Smedley. 
liluici. elotli. price .$1.50. 

THE BUBBLING 
TEAPOT. A wonder- 
story of a girl ill a dozen 
countries. Cloth, Kimo, $1.25 





Frinn i Mli.oi;i:.\'s B.\I,LADS. 




" WIDE AWAKE may now be fairly 
regarded as the leading magazine in the 
country for young people. It has kept apace 
with the advances which literature for young 
people has made of late, and is the most 
attractive, instructive and practical magazine 
which can be put into the hands of young 
people." — Cincmnaii Times-Star. 

.Merriest and Wisest of all jnag- 
azines for yoiuig folks is 




vitli a tlioicsaiid (jiiarto pages a rear of literature by best authors, and lialf a 
tliuusand pittures bv best artists. 



A FEW OF THE ATTRACTIONS FOR '86: 

A Midshipman at Large and The Cruise of the Casabianca, two yachting (serial) 
stories by Chari.es KEMiNiiToN TALHor; A Girl and a Jewel (jv/7i//), by Harriet Prkscott 
Spoffor'd; Dilly and the Captain aud Peggy ^.seiials), by MARtiAREi- Sihxe'i'; and a six 

montlis' story liv CuAREEs EmiERi' Craduuck. .\Im>, Royal Girls and Royal Courts (12) 
bv Mrs. foiiN Sherwucid; A Cycle of Children (12 /'/j'/(^;-/c- //6>//(/<ri'.>), bv Eli;ridc;e S. liROoKS 
stories" of American Wars (12), In Peril (12 Adventures), Youth in Twelve Cen- 
turies (24 Costume aiht Raee Studies), etc. (Full Prospectus Free.) 

Only §3.00 .a j'eai'. Send 10 cents for spei'Iiiien number (regular iiru-e 25 cents). 

FOR THE YOIW'GFJ^ BOYS AND GIRLS, AND THE BABIES: 



BABYLAND 

Never fails to carry deliylit to the babies and rest to the mammas, 
witli its large beautiful i^ictares, its niervv stories and jingles, in large 
type on heavy paper. 50 cents a year. 

OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN 

Witli its scvcnty-tive tuU-page |)icturcs a year, and numberless 
smaller, and its delightful stories and poems, is most admirable for 
the youngest readers in homes and schools. $1.00 a year. 

THE PANSY 

Edited by the famous author of the " Pansy Books," is equally 
charming and suitable for weeU-dav and Sunday reading. Always 
contains'a serial by " Pansy." $1.00 a year, ff" 



Bound volumes of all the magazines for previous years can be supplied, also thou- 
sands of beautiful illustrated books, in colors and in black and white — for little folks, 
boys and girls, and the family. Catalogite free. 



rs, catalogues 



^^^Send for specimen copies of the magazines, circula 
of books, etc.. to the Publisher-^. 

D. LOTHROP & CO., Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 




WHEN GKAND.M.\ \V.\b .\ GIRt 



THE NEW BOOKS 

pOR THE LlTTLiE pOLKS 0r THE pAMlLY 

{Lai-gc Qimrtos.) 

Polly: Wliere site lived, what she said, and what she 

did. By Margaret Sidney. With twelve full-page pictures by Margaret 
Johnson. The story of a funny panot and two charming children. Price 50 cts. 

Kiiiis and Oueens at Home. By Mrs. Frances A. Humphrey. 

With twenty-four portraits and pictures. Pretty stories of Royal Folks across 
the seas. Price 50 cts. 

A Small Boy's Compositions. By Sara E. Farman. With 

twenty pictures. Thoughts of a school-boy about boys, girls, birds, beasts and 
other things. Price 35 cts. 

Queen Victoria at Home. By Mrs. Frances. A. Humphrey. 

With twenty-four portraits and pictures of palaces. Pretty stories of " The Good 
Queen " and her home life. Price 50 cts. 

Stories About Favorite Authors. By Mrs. Frances A. 

Humphrey. With twelve portraits. Little literature lessons to make chil- 
dren acquainted with standard authors. Price 50 cts. 

Queer JVests and Their Builders. By Mrs. Fannie A. Deane. 

Profusely and beautifully illustrated. Stories of the ways in which Birds and 
Bugs build theii-^mes. Price 35 cts. 

Baby's Story Booh. Large print. With beautiful pictures. 
Stories for a child about other children. Price 50 cts. 

{SmaN, Square, Large-Print Books ^ 

A Y'ear of Fun. By Margaret Johnson. Twenty-four pictures by 

the author. Adventures of a little boy and girl told in easy verse. Price 25 cts. 

Fine Folks in Our Lane. With fifteen pictures. A humorous 

masquerade of familiar out-of-door creatures. In easy words and easy verse. 
Price 20 cents. 

Little People in Blacll. With twelve silhouettes by the sil- 
houette artist, Helen Maria Hinds. Observations of Santa Claus from his window 
in Palace Christmas. Price 20 cents. 

The Chrissy Cherryblows- With twenty-four pictures by "Boz." 

A dozen stories of how a little brother and sister made friendships with pretty 
pets. Price 25 cents. 

Any book sent postpaid on receipt of price, by 

D. LOTHROP & CO., Boston, Mass. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



017 166 219 9 



